fables, I have the following remark to offer: In speaking of fairy
tales, it was stated that the moral element should be touched on
incidentally, and that it should not be separated from the other, the
naturalistic elements. The pedagogical reason which leads me to assign
to the fables the second place in the course, is that each fable deals
exclusively with one moral quality, which is thus isolated and held up
to be contemplated. In the stories which will occupy the third place a
number of moral qualities are presented in combination. We have,
therefore, what seems to be a logical and progressive order--first,
fairy tales in which the moral is still blended with other elements;
secondly, a single moral quality set off by itself; then, a combination
of such qualities.
The peculiar value of the fables is that they are instantaneous
photographs, which reproduce, as it were, in a single flash of light,
some one aspect of human nature, and which, excluding everything else,
permit the entire attention to be fixed on that one.
As to the method of handling them, I should say to the teacher: Relate
the fable; let the pupil repeat it in his own words, making sure that
the essential points are stated correctly. By means of questions elicit
a clean-cut expression of the point which the fable illustrates; then
ask the pupil to give out of his experience other instances illustrating
the same point. This is precisely the method pursued in the so-called
primary object lessons. The child, for instance, having been shown a red
ball, is asked to state the color of the ball, and then to name other
objects of the same color; or to give the shape of the ball, and then to
name other objects having the same shape. In like manner, when the pupil
has heard the fable of the Fox and the Wolf, and has gathered from it
that compassion when expressed merely in words is useless, and that it
must lead to deeds to be really praiseworthy, it will be easy for him
out of his own experience to multiply instances which illustrate the
same truth. The search for instances makes the point of the fable
clearer, while the expression of the thought in precise language, on
which the teacher should always insist, tends to drive it home. It will
be our aim in the present course of lectures to apply the methods of
object teaching, now generally adopted in other branches, to the
earliest moral instruction of children--an undertaking, of course, not
without difficulties.
FOOTNOTES:
[8] Buddhist Birth Stories; or Jataka Tales, translated by T. W. Rhys
Davids.
[9] I remarked above that fables should be excluded if the moral they
inculcate is bad, not if they depict what is bad. In the latter case
they often may serve a useful purpose.
VIII.
SUPPLEMENTARY REMARKS ON FABLES.
Apart from the collection which figures under the name of AEsop, there
are other fables, notably the so-called Jataka tales, which deserve
attention. The Jataka tales contain deep truths, and are calculated to
impress lessons of great moral beauty. The tale of the Merchant of Seri,
who gave up all that he had in exchange for a golden dish, embodies much
the same idea as the parable of the Priceless Pearl, in the New
Testament. The tale of the Measures of Rice illustrates the importance
of a true estimate of values. The tale of the Banyan Deer, which offered
its life to save a roe and her young, illustrates self-sacrifice of the
noblest sort. The Kulavaka-Jataka contains the thought that a forgiving
spirit toward one's enemies disarms even the evil-minded. The tale of
the Partridge, the Monkey, and the Elephant teaches that the best seats
belong not to the nobles or the priests, to the rich or the learned, not
even to the most pious, but that reverence and service and respect and
civility are to be paid according to age, and for the aged the best
seat, the best water, the best rice, are to be reserved. The tale of
Nanda, or the Buried Gold, is a rebuke to that base insolence which
vulgar natures often exhibit when they possess a temporary advantage.
The tale of the Sandy Road is one of the finest in the collection. It
pictures to us a caravan wandering through the desert under the
starlight. The guide, whose duty it was to pilot them through this sea
of sand, has, it appears, fallen asleep at his post from excessive
weariness, and at dawn the travelers discover that they have gone
astray, and that far and wide no water is in sight wherewith to quench
their burning thirst. At this moment, however, the leader espies a small
tuft of grass on the face of the desert, and, reasoning that water must
be flowing somewhere underneath, inspires his exhausted followers to new
exertions. A hole sixty feet deep is dug under his direction, but at
length they come upon hard rock, and can dig no farther. But even then
he does not yield to despair. Leaping down, he applies his ear to the
rock. Surely, it is water that he hears gurgling underneath! One more
effort, he cries, and we are saved! But of all his followers one only
had strength or courage enough left to obey. This one strikes a heavy
blow, the rock is split open, and lo! the living water gushes upward in
a flood. The lesson is that of perseverance and presence of mind in
desperate circumstances. The tale entitled Holding to the Truth narrates
the sad fate of a merchant who suffered himself to be deceived by a
mirage into the belief that water was near, and emptied the jars which
he carried with him in order to reach the pleasant land the sooner. The
Jataka entitled On True Divinity contains a very beautiful story about
three brothers, the Sun prince, the Moon prince, and the future Buddha
or Bodisat. The king, their father, expelled the Moon prince and the
future Buddha in order to secure the succession to the Sun prince alone.
But the Sun prince could not bear to be separated from his brothers, and
secretly followed them into exile. They journeyed together until they
came to a certain lake. This lake was inhabited by an evil spirit, to
whom power had been given to destroy all who entered his territory
unless they could redeem their lives by answering the question, "What is
truly divine?" So the Sun prince was asked first, and he answered, "The
sun and the moon and the gods are divine." But that not being the
correct answer, the evil spirit seized and imprisoned him in his cave.
Then the Moon prince was asked, and he answered, "The far-spreading sky
is called divine." But he, too, was carried away to the same place to be
destroyed. Then the future Buddha was asked, and he answered: "Give ear,
then, attentively, and hear what divine nature is;" and he uttered the
words--
"The pure in heart who fear to sin,
The good, kindly in word and deed,
These are the beings in the world
Whose nature should be called divine."
And when the evil spirit heard these words, he bowed, and said: "I will
give up to you one of your brothers." Then the future Buddha said, "Give
me the life of my brother, the Sun prince, for it is on his account
that we have been driven away from our home and thrust into exile." The
evil spirit was overcome by this act of generosity, and said, "Verily, O
teacher, thou not only knowest what is divine, but hast acted divinely."
And he gave him the life of both his brothers, the Sun prince as well as
the Moon prince.
I could not resist the temptation of relating a few of these tales. They
are, as every one must admit, nobly conceived, lofty in meaning, and
many a helpful sermon might be preached from them as texts. But, of
course, not all are fit to be used in a primary course. Some of them
are, some are not. The teacher will have no difficulty in making the
right selection. To the former class belongs also No. 28 of the
collection,[10] which is excellently adapted to impress the lesson of
kindness to animals. Long ago the Buddha came to life in the shape of a
powerful bull. His master, a Brahman, asserted that this bull of his
could move a hundred loaded carts ranged in a row and bound together.
Being challenged to prove his assertion, he bathed the bull, gave him
scented rice, hung a garland of flowers around his neck, and yoked him
to the first cart. Then he raised his whip and called out, "Gee up, you
brute. Drag them along, you wretch!" The bull said to himself, "He calls
me wretch; I am no wretch." And keeping his forelegs as firm as steel,
he stood perfectly still. Thereupon the Brahman, his master, was
compelled to pay a forfeit of a thousand pieces of gold because he had
not made good his boast. After a while the bull said to the Brahman, who
seemed very much dispirited: "Brahman, I have lived a long time in your
house. Have I ever broken any pots, or have I rubbed against the walls,
or have I made the walks around the premises unclean?" "Never, my dear,"
said the Brahman. "Then why did you call me wretch? But if you will
never call me wretch again, you shall have two thousand pieces for the
one thousand you have lost." The Brahman, hearing this, called his
neighbors together, set up one hundred loaded carts as before, then
seated himself on the pole, stroked the bull on the back, and called
out, "Gee up, my beauty! Drag them along, my beauty!" And the bull, with
a mighty effort, dragged along the whole hundred carts, heavily loaded
though they were. The bystanders were greatly astonished, and the
Brahman received two thousand pieces on account of the wonderful feat
performed by the bull.
The 30th Jataka corresponds to the fable of the Ox and the Calf in the
AEsop collection. The 33d, like the fable of the Bundle of Sticks,
teaches the lesson of unity, but in a form a little nearer to the
understanding of children. Long ago, when Brahmadatta was reigning in
Benares, the future Buddha came to life as a quail. At that time there
was a fowler who used to go to the place where the quails dwelt and
imitate their cry; and when they had assembled, he would throw his net
over them. But the Buddha said to the quails: "In future, as soon as he
has thrown the net over us, let each thrust his head through a mesh of
the net, then all lift it together, carry it off to some bush, and
escape from underneath it." And they did so and were saved. But one day
a quail trod unawares on the head of another, and a disgraceful quarrel
ensued. The next time the fowler threw his net over them, each of the
quails pretended that the others were leaving him to bear the greatest
strain, and cried out, "You others begin, and then I will help." The
consequence was that no one began, and the net was not raised, and the
fowler bagged them all. The 26th Jataka enforces the truth that evil
communications corrupt good manners, and contains more particularly a
warning against listening to the conversation of wicked people. Thus
much concerning the Jataka tales.
There exists also a collection of Hindu fairy tales and fables, gathered
from oral tradition by M. Frere, and published under the title of Old
Deccan Days. A few of these are very charming, and well adapted for our
purpose. For example, the fable of King Lion and the Sly Little Jackals.
The story is told with delightful _naivete_. Singh-Rajah, the lion-king,
is very hungry. He has already devoured all the jackals of the forest,
and only a young married couple, who are extremely fond of each other,
remain. The little jackal-wife is terribly frightened when she hears in
their immediate vicinity the roar of Singh-Rajah. But the young husband
tries to comfort her, and to save their lives he hits on the following
expedient: He makes her go with him straight to the cave of the terrible
lion. Singh-Rajah no sooner sees them than he exclaims: "It is well you
have arrived at last. Come here quickly, so that I may eat you." The
husband says: "Yes, your Majesty, we are entirely ready to do as you bid
us, and, in fact, we should have come long ago, as in duty bound, to
satisfy your royal appetite, but there is another Singh-Rajah mightier
than you in the forest, who would not let us come." "What!" says the
lion, "another Singh-Rajah mightier than I! That is impossible." "Oh!
but it is a fact," say the young couple in a breath; "and he is really
much more terrible than you are." "Show him to me, then," says
Singh-Rajah, "and I will prove to you that what you say is false--that
there is no one to be compared with me in might." So the little jackals
ran on together ahead of the lion, until they reached a deep well. "He
is in there," they said, pointing to the well. The lion looked down
angrily and saw his own image, the image of an angry lion glaring back
at him. He shook his mane; the other did the same. Singh-Rajah
thereupon, unable to contain himself, leaped down to fight his
competitor, and, of course, was drowned. The fable clothes in childlike
language the moral that anger is blind, and that the objects which
excite our anger are often merely the outward reflections of our own
passions. In the fable of the Brahman, the Tiger, and the Six Judges,
we have a lesson against ingratitude, and also against useless
destruction of animal life. In the fable of the Camel and the Jackal,
the latter does not appear in the same favorable light as above. The
jackal and the camel were good friends. One day the jackal said to his
companion: "I know of a field of sugar-cane on the other side of the
river, and near by there are plenty of crabs and small fishes. The crabs
and fishes will do for me, while you can make a fine dinner off the
sugar-cane. If there were only a way of getting across!" The camel
offered to swim across, taking the jackal on his back, and in this way
they reached the opposite bank. The jackal ate greedily, and had soon
finished his meal; thereupon he began to run up and down, and to
exercise his voice, screaming lustily. The camel begged him to desist,
but in vain. Presently the cries of the jackal roused the villagers.
They came with sticks and cudgels and cruelly beat the camel, and drove
him out of the field before he had had time to eat more than a few
mouthfuls. When the men were gone at last, the jackal said, "Let us now
go home." "Very well," said the camel, "climb on my back." When they
were midway between the two banks, the camel said to the jackal: "Why
did you make such a noise and spoil my dinner, bringing on those cruel
men, who beat me so that every bone in my body aches? Did I not beg you
to stop?" "Oh," said the jackal, "I meant no harm. I was only singing a
bit. I always sing after dinner, just for amusement." They had by this
time reached the place where the water was deepest. "Well," said the
camel, "I also like innocent amusements. For instance, it is my custom
to lie on my back after dinner and to stretch myself a bit." With that
he turned over, and the jackal fell into the stream. He swallowed
pailfuls of water, and it was only with the utmost difficulty that he
succeeded in reaching the bank. He had received a salutary lesson on the
subject of inconsiderate selfishness--a fault very common with children,
which such a story as this may help to correct.
As to the modern fables, I fear they will yield us but a scanty harvest.
The fables of La Fontaine, where they depart from AEsopian originals, are
hardly suitable for children, and those of the German poet Gellert
impress me, on the whole, in the same way, though a few of them may be
added to our stock. For instance, the fable of the Greenfinch and the
Nightingale. These two birds occupy the same cage before the window of
Damon's house. Presently the voice of the nightingale is heard, and then
ceases. The father leads his little boy before the cage and asks him
which of the two he believes to have been the sweet musician, the
brightly colored greenfinch or the outwardly unattractive nightingale.
The child immediately points to the former, and is then instructed as to
his error. The lesson, of course, is that fine clothes and real worth do
not always go together. The fable of the Blind and the Lame Man teaches
the advantages of co-operation. The Carriage Horse and the Cart Horse
is a fable for the rich. Possibly the fable of the Peasant and his Son,
which is directed against lies of exaggeration, may also be utilized,
though I realize that there are objections to it.
FOOTNOTE:
[10] Buddhist Birth Stories; or Jataka Tales.
IX.
STORIES FROM THE BIBLE.
_Introduction._--It will have been noticed that in choosing our
illustrative material we have confined ourselves to what may be called
classical literature. The German _Maerchen_ has lived in the traditions
of the German people for centuries, and is as fresh to-day as Snow-white
herself when she woke from her trance. The fables, as has been shown,
have been adopted into the language and literature of Persia, of Arabia,
of the nations of Europe, and are still found in the hands of our own
children. Let us continue to pursue the same method of selection.
Instead of relying on juvenile literature just produced, or attempting
to write moralizing stories specially adapted for the purpose in hand,
let us continue, without excluding invention altogether, to rely mainly
on that which has stood the test of time. In the third part of our
primary course we shall use selected stories from the classical
literature of the Hebrews, and later on from that of Greece,
particularly the Odyssey and the Iliad. The stories to which I refer
possess a perennial vitality, an indestructible charm. I am, I trust, no
blind worshiper of antiquity. The mere fact that a thing has existed for
a thousand or two thousand years is not always proof that it is worth
preserving. But the fact that after having been repeated for two
thousand years a story still possesses a perfectly fresh attraction for
the child of to-day, does indeed prove that there is in it something of
imperishable worth. How is this unique charm of the classical literature
to be explained? What quality exists in Homer, in the Bible, enabling
them, despite the changes of taste and fashion, to hold their own? The
novels of the last century are already antiquated; few care to read
them. The poetry of the middle ages is enjoyed only by those who
cultivate a special taste for it. Historical and scientific works hardly
have time to leave an impression before new books appear to crowd them
out. But a few great masterpieces have survived, and the truth and
beauty of these the lapse of ages, it seems, has left unaltered. Mr.
Jebb remarks[11] that Homer aims at the lucid expression of primary
motives, and refrains from multiplying individual traits which might
interfere with their effect, and that this typical quality in Homer's
portraiture has been one secret of its universal impressiveness. The
Homeric outlines are in each case brilliantly distinct, while they leave
to the reader a certain liberty of private conception, and he can fill
them in so as to satisfy his own ideal. We may add that this is just as
true of the Bible as of Homer. The biblical narrative, too, depicts a
few essential traits of human nature, and refrains from multiplying
minor traits which might interfere with the main effect. The Bible, too,
draws its figures in outline, and leaves every age free to fill them in
so as to satisfy its own ideal. Thus the biblical story, as conceived in
the mind of Milton, reflects the Puritan ideal; the same story, narrated
in a modern pulpit or Sunday-school, will inevitably reflect, to a
greater or less degree, the modern humanitarian ideal, and this liberty
of interpretation is one cause of the vitality of the Bible. But it may
be asked further, How did Homer, how did the biblical writers, succeed
in producing such universal types, in drawing their figures so correctly
that, however the colors may thenceforth be varied, the outlines remain
forever true? He who should attempt at the present day to give
expression to the most universal traits of human nature, freed from the
complex web of conditions, disengaged from the thousand-fold minor
traits which modify the universal in particular instances, would find it
difficult to avoid one or the other of two fatal errors. If he keeps his
eyes fixed on the universal, he is in danger of producing a set of
bloodless abstractions, pale shadows of reality, which will not live for
a day, much less for a thousand years. If, on the other hand, he tries
to keep close to reality he will probably produce more or less accurate
copies of the types that surround him, but the danger will always be
that the universal will be lost amid the particulars. By what quality in
themselves or fortunate constellation of circumstances did Homer and the
biblical writers succeed in avoiding both these errors, in creating
types of the utmost universality and yet imparting to them the breath of
life, the gait and accent of distinctive individuality? I imagine that
they succeeded because they lived at a time when life was much less
complex than it is at present, when the conversation, the manners, the
thoughts, the motives of men were simple. They were enabled to
individualize the universal because the most universal, the simplest
motives, still formed the mainspring in the conduct of individuals. It
was not necessary for them to enter into the barren region of
abstraction and generalization to discover the universal. They pictured
what they actually saw. The universal and the individual were still
blended in that early dawn of human history.
We have thus far spoken of Homer and the Bible jointly. But let us now
give our particular attention to the biblical narrative. The narrative
of the Bible is fairly saturated with the moral spirit; the moral issues
are everywhere in the forefront. Duty, guilt and its punishment, the
conflict of conscience with inclination, are the leading themes. The
Hebrew people seem to have been endowed with what may be called "a moral
genius," and especially did they emphasize the filial and fraternal
duties to an extent hardly equaled elsewhere. Now it is precisely these
duties that must be impressed on young children, and hence the biblical
stories present us with the very material we require. They can not, in
this respect, be replaced; there is no other literature in the world
that offers what is equal to them in value for the particular object we
have now in view. Before proceeding, however, to discuss the stories in
detail, let me remind you that in studying them a larger tax is made on
the attention of children, and a higher development of the moral
judgment is presupposed, than in the previous parts of our course; for
in them a succession of acts and their consequences are presented to the
scholar, on each of which his judgment is to be exercised. Those who
teach the biblical stories merely because it has been customary to
regard the Bible as the text-book of morals and religion, without,
however, being clear as to the place which belongs to it in a scheme of
moral education, will always, I doubt not, achieve a certain result. The
stories will never entirely fail of their beneficial effect, but I can
not help thinking that this effect will be greatly heightened if their
precise pedagogic value is distinctly apprehended, and if the
preparatory steps have been taken in due course. It seems to me that the
moral judgment should first be exercised on a single moral quality as
exhibited in a single act before it is applied to a whole series of
acts; and hence that the fable should precede the story.
In making our selection from the rich material before us we need only
keep in mind the principle already enunciated in the introductory
lectures--that the moral teaching at any period should relate to the
duties of that period.
_Adam and Eve in Paradise._
This is a wonderful story for children. It deserves to be placed at the
head of all the others, for it inculcates the cardinal virtue of
childhood--obedience. It is also a typical story of the beginning, the
progress, and the culmination of temptation. Will you permit me to
relate the story as I should tell it to little children? I shall
endeavor to keep true to the outlines, and if I depart from the received
version in other respects, may I not plead that liberty of
interpretation to which I have referred above.